


Auspicious

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [181]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angelo's...finally!, Bit of kissing, Date Night, Friends to Lovers, M/M, a bit angsty, how Sherlock got hooked..., kinda sorta, lots of Chinese food, wooing with Shakespeare, yet another different meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 20,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>auspicious: adjective: aw-SPISH-us: giving or being a sign of future success</p>
<p>from Merriam-Webster:</p>
<p>"Auspicious comes from Latin auspex, which literally means "bird seer" (from the words avis, meaning "bird," and specere, meaning "to look at"). In ancient Rome, these "bird seers" were priests, or augurs, who studied the flight and feeding patterns of birds, then delivered prophecies based on their observations. The right combination of bird behavior indicated favorable conditions, but the wrong patterns spelled trouble. The English noun auspice, which originally referred to this practice of observing birds to discover omens, also comes from Latin auspex. Today, the plural form auspices is often used with the meaning "kindly patronage and guidance." "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Later, he could look back at that day and call it auspicious. Much later.

Sherlock shook out the last cigarette from the packet, managed to get it lit, then lifted his eyes to the darkening clouds and cursed as the skies opened up. He threw the drowned cigarette to the sidewalk in disgust, pulled his collar up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He watched as one of his brother's ubiquitous black cars slowed almost to a stop next to him, and he shook his head. He sighed, wondering how long, how long it would be before the need for a hit would be stronger than his desire to get back to the work. He started walking, no destination in mind, just needed to move. He thought it would be easier now that he was out in the world, he wasn't confined to that rehab center. He could choose where to be, no one could tell him what to do anymore. That was the problem, wasn't it. Eventually, he looked up again and found himself standing in front of Bart's. 

Maybe Mike is around...Molly may have something...at least I can get coffee...

 

John sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in his fatigue trousers, a clean white t-shirt and his dog tags. He wondered how long it would take before someone found him and cringed. His sister only texted when she needed cash, or a sympathetic ear, and she knew he was dangerously low on both items. Parents both dead, friends...yeah...friends... right. 

Ding.

Hey John heard you were back in town, meet me for coffee- MS

Who the fuck is MS...med school...Mike? Mike Stamford...

Hey Mike-yeah, where? - JW

Bart's? 11? - MS

Sure. - JW

Why not? I can always do this later...much later...he carefully placed his Browning back in the shoe box, tossed the box back under his bed, threw on his coat, and grabbed his cane. He limped to the door, opened it and looked up...London in January...of course it's raining. He pulled his hoodie over his head and sighed as a taxi splashed past him. Fuck it, it's a fabulous day for a walk.

By the time he got to Bart's, wetter than he thought possible, all he wanted was a coffee and roll, but Mike insisted on showing him his lab and office. I should be grateful, I suppose...what the hell...damn...who the hell is that?

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" He muttered.

"What?" He squinted at the owner of the voice. He hadn't ever heard a voice like that before...had been out in the same rain that had drenched him, the long hands shook slightly as he typed out a text. He suspected he'd see track marks if he rolled up his sleeves a bit higher, he'd known guys with eyes like that before, would get clean for a while...

"I've been out of rehab longer than you have, six months; you've been out what, 2 mont- no, 3 months...you cleaned your gun again this morning, actually loaded it, and you sat looking down the barrel for about an hour before Mike texted you."

"Afghanistan."

"I'm looking at a flat in central London..."

"Yes."

"You know nothing about me..."

"Recovering addict, you play the violin, could have been first chair, but you hate the politics and rules; you're a scientist, probably a chemist going by the stains on your fingers...you don't sleep or eat much...."

A glint of humour lit up the tired green eyes. "I guess that's enough to go on... 221 B Baker Street, 7 pm tomorrow...name is Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock patted his pockets until he remembered he had not smoked the last cigarette that morning. Was it just this morning? He took a deep breath of the damp January air and flipped his collar up again, and headed for Baker Street. John Watson...his eyes, yes, his eyes were tired, tired of going through the motions, just existing was excruciating some days, breathing was necessary, but boring. God, did he understand that. But there was something, something that burned brightly in the smaller man, he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly. Somehow the puzzle that was John Watson lasted until he opened the front door at 221 B.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Hudson was sweeping the steps again. "Have an interesting day?"

"Mmm...yes, actually...found someone to take the other bedroom...possibly..."

"Oh, that's lovely, Sherlock. Come have some tea, and tell me all about him, it's been a dreary day, it'll warm you up."

"Do you have those biscuits?"

"Of course, dear."

 

John sat in his regular stool at the bar and sipped at the one whisky he allowed himself and smiled as he recalled his unusual morning.

"Cap'n John, are you sure you feelin' alright, mate?" His bartender prodded him. "I know I've never seen you crack a smile in here before..."

"Met someone today, Pete..."

"Ahhh, someone special, then, yeah?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"A looker, huh?"

John closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the green eyes that almost smiled, the long fingers and that mouth.

"Cap'n?"

"Yeah, Pete, a right looker."

"One more, Cap'n?"

"Why not, Pete, why the hell not?" He toasted his bartender and tossed it back, then paid up his tab with a big tip.

"Won't be back, eh, Cap'n?"

"Nope, finally movin' on, Pete."

"Good for you, Cap'n, I'll miss yer grumpy face.'

"No, you won't, but thanks all the same."

 

"A soldier and a doctor?"

"Mmmm, trained as a surgeon, I think, but has a tremor now..."

"Does he know what he's signing up for?"

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you implying I'm hard to live with-"

Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat.

"Okay, yes, all right, ALL right...I did replace the fridge and the carpet...and the curtains...and yeah, a new kitchen table wouldn't be a bad idea..."

"Uh-huh..."

"It was like he knew me somehow, he called my bluff, quite refreshing having someone turn the tables on me for once, not sure I liked it, but it was different. Not boring, definitely not boring."

"Oh, Sherlock, he sounds just perfect, he'll keep you on your toes."

"Just possibly, Mrs. H. He may be exactly what I need...damn...I should straighten up a bit, and that chair of Mr. Hudson's?"

"Of course, he'll need a comfy chair...I'm just chuffed for you, love."

He stood, then bent down to give her a kiss on both cheeks.

"Me too, Mrs. H, me too."


	3. Chapter 3

"Fuck."

Another fucking nightmare. How did he think he could possibly live with someone? Ridiculous. He looked at his phone. 2:30. Two hours of sleep. A new fucking record. He rubbed his face and sighed.

"Tea."

Sherlock plucked on his violin. Who was he kidding? The fridge alone should scare him off. He didn't have friends. People were...pluck...too...pluck...much...pluck...work...sproingggg...damn it. 3:12. Another broken string.

 

"Nothing happens to me...no. That's not true any longer. I met someone...I think I met someone."

"You think you met someone."

"No. I know I met someone, just not sure if it will work."

"What will work?"

"Living together."

"You just met...and you'll be living together?"

"A friend set us up, flat share. But..."

"But?"

"The nightmares. They aren't getting better. If anything they are getting worse, have been since I got back to London."

"Have you blogged about them, like I suggested?"

"Yeah...no. No, seeing those images in words is not something anyone needs to see, especially not me."

"It could help."

"Nope. Oh, look at the time..."

"John."

"I'm fine. Yeah, just fine. Really."

 

Hmmm. Where should the chair go? Across from mine. Too forward? Fridge is clean, binned all those old bits, maybe I can get a fridge put in 221 C...need to put new strings on...milk, some people like milk...food. Damn. How do people do this? Why am I nervous? I don't get nervous. He won't show anyway. Nothing to get anxious about. I'm not anxious. Maybe I shouldn't talk to the skull when he's around. He may find that odd. 

 

Just one box. I'm forty years old and everything I own fits in one box. One very average sized box.

 

Tea. He'd probably like tea. "Mrs. Hudson!" Oh. He's here. Right on time. One box. Everything he owns. Breathe. He's one person. He's nervous too, the tremor is bad today. Breathe. 

"Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson."

 

"Come in, come in!"


	4. Chapter 4

Steps... of course there are steps...12...13...fourrrteen...fifteen...sixteeeen...seventeen. He's waiting, holding my box. He's nervous, why is he nervous? Oh. Ohhh, it's lovely. Fireplace, kitchen...

"Hmmm? Of course I'll need the other bedroom...we're not...uhm..."

Not yet.

 

Why didn't I think about the steps...he loves it. He doesn't think it's odd, he took a deep breath in and sat down in his chair. His chair. Like he fits, he is supposed to be here. Mrs. Hudson...let him unpack first...settle in. 

Not completely straight...

Maybe...maybe what? Why would he want...

 

Why would he want a crippled surgeon? Anger and trust issues, nightmares...damnit. Breathe. That's a...

 

"Skull. A real skull."

"Uhm...yeah...closest thing I have to a friend...doesn't talk back, good listener."

"I bet."

"Tea? How do you take it?"

"Yeah, tea sounds great. A little milk?"

 

I haven't scared him off yet...hmm.

"Found your website this morning. 'Science of Deduction?' Interesting reading."

"Liar."

"It has its uses, got me back to sleep..." 

God, he smiled, his eyes, so dark, but they sparkle...oh damn. Breathe.

"So, what do you do besides study ash and perfume?"

"You got that far?"

"Uhm-hm."

"When Scotland Yard is stumped, sometimes they consult me. Lestrade won't let me back on a scene until I'm clean for another month, but he brings me files, cold cases mostly."

"Sherlock? What about these suicides...three of them? Odd."

"Four. There's been a fourth, Mrs. Hudson."

"Lestrade?"

"Need your help."

"Something different with this one. Yeah? You wouldn't be here unless..."

"I took photos, not very good ones, but she wrote a note, 'Rache'. "

"Anderson thinks she's German..."

"Yeah."

"Look for a Rachel and a suitcase."

"No suitcase."

"There has to be one."

"Who's he?"

"Hmmm?"

"Oh, John Watson, new flatmate, meet DI Lestrade, my sometime boss, full time busybody..."

"That's not fair..."

"Never mind...look for a pink suitcase, small overnight case, wheels...figure out who Rachel is. And they aren't suicides, somehow they are murders, he finally made a mistake."

"Wha-"

"Lestrade, he took the case with him. It's pink, it will match her suit and her shoes, he has to dump it...really? Look in the alleys, near the scene. He watched her die, somehow he is responsible..."

"All right, thank you-you know I'd get you on the scene if I could..."

"Yeah, sure...go and babysit your underlings, before they trip over the body."

 

"So, what didn't you tell him?"

"Hmm?"

"You saw more than that, but you didn't tell him."

"She had been married over ten years, unhappily, serial adulterer, she was planning to be in town overnight, from Cardiff..."

"But..."

"Nothing to do with the case, he picked them up randomly, cabbie. A cabbie! John!"

 

Serial killer is a cabbie. - SH

What? - GL

He's picking up victims randomly, whoever is unlucky to get into his cab, that's why they seem random, it's because they are. - SH

All right, thanks mate. - GL

 

"So that's what you do."

"Yeah."

"That was brilliant."

"Really?"

"Course it was, you didn't even move from your chair. Fucking brilliant."

"Uhm, yeah...not what most people say."

"Why do you care what most people say?"

"I don't. Not anymore."

 

Oh. Damn. No...he doesn't need...

Fuck. I've spooked him.

 

"Uhmmm...I'm gonna go unpack, won't take long."

"Yeah. Right. Chinese, do you like Chinese food?"

"Sounds great. Bet you can deduce the fortune cookies."

"Sometimes, yeah."

"Back in a bit, mind if I grab a shower?"

"You don't need to ask, John. You're home."

"Right. Forgot. Thank you."

 

No. Thank you, John.


	5. Chapter 5

"Wasn't sure what you liked..."

"...So you ordered the whole menu..."

"More or less."

 

The coffee table was covered in cartons, the scent almost made John fall over. He hadn't really eaten a full meal in what, two days?

"I...uhm...ordered a new kitchen table, it will be here in a few days, hope you don't mind eating here?"

"No, it's fine. It's all fine."

"You go ahead, I'm going to grab a shower..."

"Right...you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

 

Sherlock turned the hot water on and let the steam fill the room. He undressed and stood in front of the mirror and watched his reflection vanish in the mist.

Coward, you are afraid of him...no...I'm not afraid of him...just can't get attached. He'll leave once he gets tired of me. Right now, I'm unique, entertaining...eventually it will be too much...shower...right.

 

John found a carton of Curry Chicken and the remote. He settled back to watch an episode of Monty Python, and was in near hysterics by the time Sherlock came out, dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown. Sherlock stood and just watched, listening to him laugh. It had been so long since he heard someone honestly laugh in his presence that wasn't aimed at him.

"Hey, sorry, hope you don't mind. It's been so long since I've seen the Dead Parrot skit...come, sit, eat. I know you don't eat much, but take a few bites, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded as he joined John on the couch. He found the shrimp dumplings and for once, discovered he was hungry. He settled in next to John, stealing the occasional bit of chicken or veg from his carton, and simply observed the man next to him. Of Scottish descent, ash blond, turning slightly silver, dark blue(?) eyes, solid jaw line, bit of an upturned nose, lips...lips...oh.

"I, uhm, would very much like to kiss you, I know we barely know each other, but I'm getting too old to..."

"Yes...I would like that, please?"

John grinned and put his carton down, then took Sherlock's fork away. He slid his hand into slightly damp curls and tugged slightly.

"Johhhhhnnn."

"Sorry, too much?"

"Noooo, just uhm, new..."

John blinked and whispered, "no one's ever kissed you?"

"Not for real..."

"Oh."

"I was 12, she was 14, experiment, wanted to see what the fuss was about..."

"Ah. We don't, uhm, have to..."

"Please?"

John nodded and moved his hand to Sherlock's remarkable face, tracing the contours lightly, then softly pressed his lips against Sherlock's. 

"Oh."

"Hmmm?"

"You have witchcraft in your lips..."

"Henry V, Act V, Scene ii."

"Got it in one."

"Are you still hungry?"

"No..."

"Let me put the food away..."

"Please allow me, should last us at least a week or..."

"...Two..."

John grinned and kissed him again, this time, Sherlock could taste the curry, the hot and sour soup, and as he sat back, he realized a tiny bit of his pain. He put a finger to his lips and closed his eyes. 

"Sorry, I-"

"No, don't you dare apologize..."

"Yeah, okay, I'll just put this away then?"

Sherlock nodded, then rose from the couch, and went to his violin case. He hadn't really played since he'd been home, now, his fingers ached to play. He heard John start the kettle as he tuned the instrument, then he began with scales, wincing at his creakiness...the kettle screamed and John settled back onto the couch. After a few minutes, John put his mug on the coffee table and was soon snoring quietly.

Sherlock played until the edges of morning light slowly brightened the city that lay in front of him. He put his instrument away and sat in his chair, watching John sleep until finally his eyes closed and he dozed off, for once at peace with his world.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of the door shutting startled him awake.

"John?"

"Sorry. I just thought I would cook breakfast, eggs and sausage, toast? Seems we just have lots of Chinese..."

 

Last night was real. His fingers involuntarily reached up to touch his lips.

 

"Yeah, it was real. You played all night, didn't you?"

"Mmmhmm...hadn't felt like playing in ages, but last night...how did you know?"

"What?"

"How did you know about first chair?"

"I have, had, technically still have a sister, we don't talk anymore...she was a brilliant musician, passionate, intuitive, but had debilitating stage fright, started drinking just to go on...worked for a bit until it didn't. When I was a kid, I'd sometimes have nightmares, she would get up and play for me until I went back to sleep."

"But how did you know?"

John walked over to him and took his right hand in his two smaller hands. "Your fingers brushed against my hand when you borrowed my phone, the callouses, they never really fade away." He put Sherlock's fingers to his lips and kissed them. "Do you know how long it's been since I slept through the night?" He whispered.

Sherlock shook his head mesmerized by the man who stood in front of him. 

"Three years. Last night was the first time in a year and a half that I didn't wake up in a cold sweat...and its been six months since I last woke up peacefully. Thank you. I'm going to make us breakfast, and you will have at least a piece of toast, with honey..."

"I ran out yester-how?"

"Saw the empty jar in the fridge, also saw your books on bees..."

"If you know all that, then you must know..."

"Yes."

" 'Yes,' he says. Like it's that simple."

"It is."

"I don't know how.."

"First, you are going to sit on the couch and eat toast and honey, then you will get dressed and take a walk with me. You will breathe in and out, and I will kiss you when you want me to. We can hold hands, or not, we can get coffee and I will stare into those magnificent eyes that are currently staring at me like I've lost my mind."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You ordered every dish from a restaurant so I would have my favourite, you stayed up all night playing...for both of us, until you fell asleep; you, Sherlock Holmes, you are a magnificent human being, and I will knock down anyone who tries to tell me otherwise."

They heard the door shut, a murmured "Mrs. Hudson...is he awake?" and Sherlock groaned. "You may get your chance sooner than you think."

"Who is it?"

"My brother."

"Go get a shower."

"What, no, you don't want to..."

"Sherlock..."

"God. Now, I know I..."

"Shower. Scoot."

Sherlock kissed him sweetly then nodded.

John spoke before he turned. "You don't even knock?"

"Dr. Watson..."

"Mr. Holmes."

"Mycroft, please. May I call you John?"

"Dr. Watson works for me, Mr. Holmes, or Captain, if you prefer.

"I see..."

"No, I don't think you do."

"I came here prepared to pay a substantial sum for you to walk away-let. me. finish. Captain."

John closed his mouth and waited.

"...My brother is special...wait...he has certain gifts...that make life a bit unkind from time to time...he has turned to drugs many times when it has become too unkind. He has never had a real relationship before. I thought- I believed, wrongly, as it turns out, that no one could appreciate his gifts, as well as understand his limitations, I didn't believe anyone was capable of loving him as he is. I do hope I am not making. a. mistake, Captain?"

"No. Sir. You are not. I will not let him down."

"Good. I know you've already gotten him to eat and sleep, so you seem to know what you are about."

"Is that all?"

"If you ever need anything. My card."

"I doubt we will. But, thank you, Sir."

"It's purely an honourary title..."

"Right..."

"Good day, Captain Watson."

John nodded, then breathed a sigh of relief as the front door shut quietly. Breakfast. Right. Toast and honey.

"You were brilliant, John." Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's waist.

"You heard all of it..."

"Yes."

"You never have to worry."

"You were going to make me toast and honey."

"Breakfast, right."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all right, already...some fluff, then John gets talked to by Molly...a little BAMF Molly...

John never got his eggs and sausage that morning.

Instead, he discovered a latent fondness for all things bees and honey, especially honey...he did make Sherlock six pieces of Mrs. Hudson's sourdough bread, three of which Sherlock did eat, eventually. It began innocently enough.

"Oh, John, you have to try a bite...this honey is just so good." He dragged his finger through the honey that had dribbled onto his plate and sucked it off slowly,

"Sherlock...if you start that, we will never leave the flat today..."

"What? This?" With innocent eyes, he dipped his finger in again, but this time, painted John's lips with the sticky, golden mess then kissed and licked it away.

"Uhmmmm....yeah...exactly that...do you know how unbelievably...damn...eat your toast...before..."

"What...before what?"

John dipped his finger in the jar and dotted Sherlock's nose, his lips and chin and took his time removing it.

"Mmmm, you're right, this is rather lovely honey..."

"Johnnnn..." Sherlock reached across the table and kissed him until he dropped the toast he was holding. 

"You're a quick study," John managed when he could speak again.

"I have an excellent instructor..."

"Eat...and then we can take a shower..."

"Together?"

"Would that be all right?" John looked Sherlock in the eyes and his heart dropped. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I uhm, have scars...scars that I never show anyone."

"I have my own, Sherlock, neither of us is perfect. It is our past, we don't have to keep living there."

"But yours are different, you got them in a war...mine are..."

"From a war with yourself. We are both battle-worn, love. We are still here, somehow we are still here. Please let me?"

John cautiously touched Sherlock's chin, lifting his face to meet his eyes. "I want to know and love all of you. Not just the perfect parts, of which there are many. I'm not afraid. Do you trust me?"

Sherlock blinked hard and stood. Slowly, he took off his gown, then his shirt and his age-worn pajama bottoms. He opened his eyes and saw John standing in front of him, tears streaming down his face.

"You are beautiful. No. You are. Need a bit of feeding up, but you are the most beautiful person I've ever known."

"May I?"

John bit his lip and nodded. He lifted his arms so Sherlock could remove his jumper and vest, then sighed and closed his eyes as Sherlock unbuttoned his jeans. "God-"

"Are you sure this is what you want, John?"

"Yes, my God, yes, please."

Sherlock removed his jeans, then stood up and gently touched John's scarred shoulder with his lips. Then traced the outline with his tongue, until he heard John's breath catch in a sob. He held out his arms and gently guided him to the floor. "You're safe, John. I'm here, let it go, love. You can let it go." Sherlock rocked him and kissed him through his tears of anger, pain and disappointment. "Your story isn't a tragedy, John. You can begin again. With me. Will you let me?"

John opened his eyes and saw love looking back at him. "I'm a mess, you sure you want to take me on?" He whispered quietly.

"I'd like nothing better. Now. I think we really need that shower, and then dare I say it, I need a nap."

"Sounds like a plan..." John managed to stand up, then helped Sherlock to his feet. "Thank you."

A half hour later, John was typing up some notes for a possible blog post when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. "Yoo-hoo, did Sherlock lose the bell again? Molly's here, said she had a sample for him?"

"He's napping, was awake all night, but she's welcome to come up."

Molly walked in and saw Sherlock curled up in John's lap, sound asleep."It's true then, good. I wasn't sure...I've never seen him look at anyone like the way he looked at you a couple of days ago. Damn. I know this isn't my business, but I went to Uni with him, I've seen him through some really bad shit. Stuff Mycroft doesn't even know about, and I swear, if you break his heart, John Watson, yer gonna wish you were dead when I'm done with you."

"You're in love-"

"No, he's known he was gay a long time, long before I knew him. I never had a chance. I was the sibling he wished he'd had, he's my best friend, and I would do anything for him. So please, please-"

"I love him, Molly. Heart and soul, swear to God."

"Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear."

"Okay, good. Now that that's settled, dinner on Friday? My place? 8ish?"

"Can we bring anything?"

"Good bottle of wine?"

"You got it. Thank you, Molly."

"Fer what?"

"Taking care of him."

"It was my pleasure...damn must dash...another delivery...damn it. Just tell him I put the sample in the fridge...no worries, it's triple sealed. In the crisper, away from all the Chinese food...?"

"Don't ask."

"Understood. See you Friday-"

"Friday."

John sighed as the door closed quietly behind her, and he softly kissed the man who was beginning to stir. "Go back to sleep, love, I've got you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wee chapter before I go get the kiddos <3

An evening shower was ramping up as Sherlock opened his eyes. 

"Molly was here."

"Uhm yeah, for a few minutes after you fell asleep."

"She was going to bring me...a..."

"It's in the crisper 'triple sealed'?"

"And?"

"She invited us to dinner at her place, Friday night-"

"After she told you in no uncertain terms what she would do to you if you broke my heart..."

"She gave me an idea, yes."

"Damn, twice in a day is a bit much. I'm sorry."

"They love you, they don't want you to get hurt, completely understandable. They don't know me from Adam."

"Feel like Chinese again?"

"Uh uh - want to take you to Angelo's, go get dressed, like a date..."

"You want to show me off, 'us' off."

"Angelo will adore you, he's so used to Billy, that he's started talking to him, I think he'll be relieved to be speaking to a living person. Yes. I want to show you off."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Date-night at Angelo's"

Sherlock took a deep breath and tightened his grip on John's hand. "You're fine, we are fine. breathe."

"Here we go...I warned you-"

"SHER-lock!" Angelo burst from the kitchen, and enveloped Sherlock in the biggest bear hug John had ever witnessed.

"Angelo, long time, a year?"

"Too long...you haven't been eating...wait, who is this?"

"Angelo, this is John, my-"

"JOHN!!!" John took a deep breath as he too was almost picked straight up into the air.

"Angelo, Sherlock tells me you make the best angel hair pasta..."

"The man never lies...maybe twists the truth a bit, but he never lies...so yes, I do."

"Modest as ever, Angelo. is my table available?"

"Always, always, Sherlock, for you, always, my friend."

 

Here we go...every time...

 

"He saved me, this man...John, the police, they accuse me, Angelo Fitzpatrick..."

("Fitzpatrick? Really?")

...of three grizzly murders, me! Maker of the best angel hair pasta in London..."

("Father Irish, mum was Sicilian...who knows how...")

...Sherlock, this genius man, I don't how he thinks as he does, never eats enough..."

"I know, I'm working on it."

"Good, good!"

"He saved me from prison! I love this man! Food, two specials, good bottle of wine, candle, yes, a candle."

"How did you save him?"

"I successfully proved to Lestrade and his merry menagerie of morons that Angelo had in fact been in another county breaking into a safe at the time of the murder, so..."

"...he still went to prison..."

"Yes...but not for murder...just a little B and E..."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-two. I was living rough, Angelo always had a kind word and a warm take away, tiramisu on my birthday. So, when his daughter came to find me, I had to help him. It took a bit to convince Lestrade the witness had the wrong guy, and I managed to twist Mycroft's arm a bit, to twist some arms so he only served a couple months. It cured the nasty little safe-cracking habit. He was quite good, just got sloppy that one time..."

"Wine, candle, bread, good bread, fresh from my oven, good yeah?"

John lifted the cloth covered basket and sniffed, rosemary, and garlic met his nose, and he sighed..."Oh, yes, Angelo, very good."

"Good, I like you, John, much more expressive than Billy, didn't appreciate quite as much, a good customer though, quiet, respectful..."

"I will try my utmost to emulate him, Angelo."

"I do hope you eat a bit more than he did," Angelo nodded solemnly as he went to get their entrees.

"Oh, Sherlock, he is lovely."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes and saw love, respect and sheer joy. He squeezed John's fingers a bit tighter and said quietly. "I love you."

"I love you. You make everything so much...I don't know...brighter, shinier...more real."

"Angel hair pasta! Little olive oil, anchovies, tomatoes, Parmesan, figured one big plate would work best..."

"Excellent, it smells amazing," John grinned at him, "and yes, you know how he is..."

"Yes, never changes this one."

"I hope not." John kissed Sherlock's hand then fed him a bit of pasta.


	10. Chapter 10

They finished the wine, managed to eat the entire plate of pasta, though it took a couple of hours, and John was carrying an enormous carton of tiramisu in one hand, as the other was firmly held by his...

"What are we?"

"Hmmm?"

"Not a fan of boyfriend."

"Juvenile."

"Exactly."

"My sun and moon?"

"Little long..."

"Partner?"

"Mmmm...'kay, I like it."

 

"Home. We're home."

"When did we become a 'we'? "

"Not exactly sure, definitely we were a 'we' before toast and honey this morning."

"Yes, I'll grant you that."

"Maybe over Chinese..."

"Come to bed with me."

"You don't have to do..."

"I know, I want to fall asleep wrapped around you, and wake up with you sleeping on my chest."

John crammed the tiramisu into the freezer and they stood in front of each other, simply breathing together.

"Shoes."

"Yeah..."

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Bed."

"Bed."

They undressed like they had been doing this for years already, then slid under the covers. John laid on his right side, facing the door, Sherlock curled around him, a lanky arm draped over John's hip.

"John."

"Yeah?"

"Is this good for you?"

"Uhm...yeah..."

"Me too."

"Are you tired?"

"Thought I was..."

"Yeah, me too."

"Hmmm...will you roll onto your back? Please."

"Yeah."

"Mind if I touch you?"

"Anywhere you want to, love."

John kept his eyes locked onto Sherlock's, as the detective's music roughened fingers investigated every inch of John's body, until he was simply floating.

"Sher-"

"I want to..."

"Please...I'm so close..."

"Keep your eyes on me-"

"Oh, Sherlock...kiss me, please?"

Sherlock nodded and kissed John's orgasm from him, then held him in his arms as he shook. "Shhhh, love, I'm here. Going to get a flannel to clean us up, back in a moment."

John was on his side still feeling the aftershocks, Sherlock slid behind him and washed him gently, then threw the flannel onto the side table.

"I'm here, John."

"I know, just hold me, please, don't let go?"

" 'Fraid you are stuck with me, I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock held on, feeling John relax against him and after a few moments, heard him drift off to sleep.

"Love you..."

"I love you, my sweet man."

He turned out the lamp and found he was completely exhausted. In a few short minutes he was sound asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Ding

I know you're usually awake when you don't have a case, thought I'd bring over some cold files for you? - GL

What time is it? - SH

9 am, don't tell me I woke you up - GL

Yeah, come on over, I'll put the kettle on - SH

 

Sherlock looked down at the man resting on his chest and rubbed his eyes. He's still here, still with me. 

"Yeah, still here. Some day you will get used to it..."

"Sorry, thinking too loudly. Just wondering when you are going to come to your senses...how long have you been awake? You should have got me up..."

"An hour or so, just very comfortable where I am."

"Lestrade is coming to drop some cold files over, you can go back to sleep or socialize..."

"Mmmm, think I'll just keep the bed warm?"

"I'll get rid of him as soon as I can."

John pushed himself up, rolled onto his right side and looked down at Sherlock. "How do you manage to look stunning first thing in the morning? Seems a bit unfair..."

"Hold that thought." Sherlock kissed John soundly, then regretfully crawled out of bed, and threw on a pair of bespoke trousers with a purple shirt that John couldn't wait to take off of him.

"Aubergine..."

"Of course it is..."

Sherlock grinned, tossed on his dressing gown, then turned the kettle on, just as Lestrade bounded up the stairs. 

"Now I know we are at the end of days..."

"What?"

"That grin is probably illegal in most counties."

"Oh shut up! Tea?"

"Ta."

"What????!"

"You are in love."

"Brilliant deduction. What gave me away?"

"You've been sleeping and eating, you're offering me tea and you haven't insulted me yet."

"Very good. I must be rubbing off on you finally. You take milk still?"

"Yeah...uhm...Sherlock?"

"I know. My world got turned upside down three days ago, still trying to find my footing, but, this is real, Greg. I shouldn't want this, it's messing with my internal clock and rebooting things, but he loves me, I love him. I'm still expecting to turn around and he'll be gone, but I woke up with-"

"Never mind. Just wanted to see how you were, shocked I hadn't heard from you, you are usually bored to death by now. Oh and yeah, found that pink case, just where you said and found the cabbie...he confessed, a bit disappointed that he didn't get to meet you, went on and on about your website, then he collapsed, turned out he had an aneurysm, died before he made it to hospital."

"Great, a serial killer who was a fan of my site..one of three people..."

"He would've kept going, if you hadn't helped, so thank you. And thank you for the tea, I'll leave this box here, so you can get back to..."

"Yeah, you're welcome-I'll take a look at these in a day or two...oh, you going to be at Molly's on Friday?"

"Course, can't wait, you know she worries, she remembers the last time."

"That was years ago, he isn't Victor. I'm clean, and he's kind. He isn't Victor, he's nothing at all like him..."

"Sorry, it's just been a long time since I've seen you happy. It's good, Sherlock, forget I said anything, yeah?"

"Yeah, don't you have somewhere to be, Geoff?"

"See you two on Friday."

 

Sherlock sighed and made two mugs of tea. Calm down, he isn't Victor, damn it, breathe. Just breathe. Back to bed, just need to go back to bed. Breathe...just breathe. He nudged the door open with his foot and relaxed. John was sitting up, reading a book on bees, glasses perched on the end of his nose, his hair flashed golden in the sunlight, and he grinned up at him, nothing at all like...

"Tea."

"Ta. Come 'ere, I've been daydreaming about getting you out of that pur- aubergine shirt for the last ten min-" He put the book down and took off his glasses. Sherlock handed John his tea, sat on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath. 

"You know you can tell me anything, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded. "I need to tell you why Molly and Greg and my brother are worried, it has nothing to do with you, it was years ago, he was the reason I was on the streets when Angelo was in trouble, the main reason I started doing drugs, and my excuse for wasting most of my twenties and nearly dying. His name was Victor Trevor."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heavy dose of angst, my take on Victor Trevor, in this verse, not a nice guy, kind of a smoother Sebastian Wilkes...ewwww...not sure if he will make an appearance in the story, but this is the brief story of how Sherlock got hooked...

John nodded and waited.

Sherlock held on to his tea with both hands, then stood and started pacing. 

"I entered Cambridge at 16, and as I had no social life to speak of, had two degrees at 20. Mycroft was all set to make me the 'youngest star' of his diplomatic corps...but I was bored, bored with school, bored of the rarefied air, and most of all, I knew I was gay. Mycroft didn't want to know, though he always knew, he believed if he kept his eyes and ears on me, eventually I would magically become like him. He was wrong. I found ways around his cameras and his bugs, his minions were easily fooled and he loathes 'leg werk', so I hit the clubs. I wasn't stupid, I knew what drugs did, I'd seen washouts, never touched the stuff, but then..."

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock blinked and took a gulp of lukewarm tea and nodded.

"...he was beautiful, Byron paled in comparison, brilliant, he was an artist, a writer, had 'that' voice that curled my hair and I was in 'loooove.' And he was straight, but loved to dip a toe into the water so to speak. Two things, he had a nasty little drug habit, and was mean as a hornet when high, or needing to get high, or coming down from the high. He had money, all the money he could possibly want, but went through his allowance faster than...shit, I'm shite at metaphors, he spent all his clothing, food and book money on the 'good stuff'. But all I saw was his beautiful hands, his eyes, the way he would look at me..."

"It's ok, tell me, you need to get this out, love."

"...we only kissed once, the night he put a needle in my arm..."

"Oh, love."

"...in the morning, he was gone, but I was hooked. He eventually finished his degree, left school, got clean and became a banker. Married an Earl's daughter, has 2.3 kids and is in line for a knighthood for something...took me 15 years to kick it. Not sure if I have."

"Come here, please?"

"John?"

"Yeah, love."

"My tea is cold."

"Yeah, can I get you a fresh cuppa?

"I think I just need you."

"You have me." John got out of bed, and touched Sherlock's hand. Without a word, he removed his dressing gown, the aubergine shirt and his black bespoke trousers. He sat him on the bed and sat down in front of him.

"Hear me, Sherlock Holmes. Hear me, right now. I am not leaving you. You are my heart, you are the reason I am still here, okay, maybe that's a bit not good, but it's the truth. Today, all I want to do is hold you, and watch over while you sleep. Then we will eat an obscene amount of tiramisu, and then if the weather is good we will go feed some Chinese food to the ducks."

"Chinese food isn't good for ducks, John."

"Probably not. Will you let me hold you?"

Sherlock laid down and reached for him. "Please?"

John nodded, then slipped under the covers and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "I'm here, love."

"Mmmmm..." He snuggled close to John and kissed his chest. "You have no idea how much..."

"I know, love, I know. Just sleep."

John sent a text to Mycroft, then turned off both of their phones and quietly seethed as he held Sherlock in his arms.

 

I know about Victor fucking Trevor. - JW

 

Mycroft was not known for cursing, in fact, no one had ever heard him swear while in his inner sanctum before, but Anthea's ears blistered as her boss swore a blue streak before dashing off a few texts and made arrangements to meet with Victor Trevor's aging father-in-law.

 

I'm sorry, John. - MH


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of BAMF John <3, and a bit of Harry...

After a couple of hours, John gave in, and turned his phone back on.

I'm sorry, John. - MH

Is he all right?- MH

I'm trying to fix it. - MH

What exactly can you fix now? 15 years, Mycroft. - JW

You've had 15 years to FIX whatever you think is fixable today. - JW

This evening is his investiture. I'm trying to stop it. - MH

Are you fucking kidding me? - JW

Language, Captain. But I agree with the sentiment. - MH

He doesn't need this right now. - JW

I know. - MH

Is there a place where he feels safe, no papers? No telly? - JW

We have a place in Sussex, not great this time of year, but I can have the caretaker open it up. It's just a cottage. - MH

Can you keep things under the radar til Saturday morning, we have dinner with Molly on Friday night. I'll take him there Saturday morning for a week? - JW

But do NOT think you are done talking to me about this. - JW

I would expect nothing else from you, Captain, I have, as you like to say, 'fucked up' when it comes to Sherlock an infinite number of times, just trying to do right by him. - MH

You could try just being his brother, Sir. - JW

 

"Jesus, pot meet kettle much?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry, love, didn't mean to wake you, just need to text someone."

"Mmmmkay."

 

Hey, just want to let you know I'm not dead. - JW

Congratulations. - HW

I just moved a couple of days ago, wanted to let you know. - JW

And I met someone. - JW

Hope she'll make you very happy. - HW

He's a he and yes, he does. - JW

Blow me down. - HW

Just wanted to say sorry. - JW

For what, Johnny? - HW

Not standing up for you - JW

I should've done more. - JW

What could you have done? You were 12. - HW

I made some bad choices, sweetie, it's not on you. - HW

I could've - JW

No. Maybe sometime you can bring him by, just call first? - HW

I love you - JW

I know, ditto - HW

 

"Hey, love-"

"Yeah?"

"Hungry?"

"Someone promised me tiramisu, in obscene quantities, I believe was the word?"

"C'mon, shower first?"

"How do you feel about bubble baths?"

"Oh. Could we?"

"We can do whatever we want, we can even have obscene amounts of tiramisu in a bubble bath..."

"Yer killing me here. You start the bath, I'll get the tiramisu-"

"I love you." Sherlock kissed him on the nose, then went to start the bath.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bubbles and tiramisu...

Sherlock was already knee deep in bubbles by the time John joined him with two heaping bowls of tiramisu. "I do read the paper, you know..."

"Hmmm?" 

"The article about his investiture was in last week's paper. I'm not going into hiding."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"I didn't think about Victor until Lestrade said something in regards to that period of my life, but I felt like you needed to know about him. You want to see Sussex for the first time in the spring, not the first week of February. I already texted Mycroft to call off the hounds; Victor doesn't even remember me, in fact, Mycroft paid him handsomely to make sure he forgot me. He's an arsehole, but I don't want to waste another second of my time on this planet thinking about him, when I have you, and bubbles and obscene amounts of tiramisu.

John put the bowls down and got into the water so he could face him. "I am so, so, very sorry. I was just so angry. I wanted to fix it for you, somehow. I don't understand how someone could hurt you in that way, and I wanted to punish him. Please forgive me for being an arse?"

"Only if you kiss me."

"I think that could be arranged." He rearranged himself so that his knees were nestled between Sherlock's long, lean thighs, he pressed his hands against the wall and kissed his partner slowly and deeply, building until both of them pulled away, gasping for air.

"I, uhm, think you are forgiven. Don't do it again. I am a grown up, I don't need protecting, John. I just need you to trust, love and respect me. I know I'm a little out of the ordinary, but I deserve all of that. When I need your help, I hope I can ask you for it?"

John lowered his head against Sherlock's chest and wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock shook his head and brought John's face level with his own. "No, love, don't hide from me, I know you are a fixer, sometimes there are broken places in people that can't be fixed, no matter how hard we try to bandage them up. You, better than anyone, know that most people are walking through life wounded, even if the wound isn't visible. I have known you for about 72 hours, and I have never met a better, wiser, stronger, more human person than you, and I love that you wanted to try to take my past into your heart and change it into something different. You can't do that for me, love. It is what it is. We wouldn't be here right now without all the previous garbage and hell we were dragged through. It is part of us, but it doesn't have to rule our hearts. Now, I think you owe me some tiramisu. Gimme."

John laughed, it started small, then grew into a joyful, belly laugh that caught Sherlock off guard. "I love you so much, I had no idea until now how much. I can't stop being who I am, but I hope you can teach me how to let things be as they are. No one has ever understood me as you do...I don't...my heart is so full of you, it hurts, love. I don't know how to do this, I don't do relationships, I've had girlfriends and the occasional boyfriend, but no one has ever claimed my heart as you have, and I'm frankly a bit terrified that I am not deserving of your faith and love. I hope you know I will spend the rest of my life learning how to love you."

"I think we are essentially married now, John. You may now kiss your husband and feed him."

"Yes, love."

They spent the next hour laughing and eating and kissing and touching until the bubbles vanished and they both swore to never order or even think about ordering tiramisu again. John stepped out of the tub, then offered Sherlock his hand and helped him out. 

They stood in front of each other, simply gazing into the other's eyes for a long moment; then Sherlock reached up and traced John's lips with a single finger, before kissing him tenderly, in a way that simultaneously filled him and nearly broke him in two.

"Thank you, John. Thank you for you. For trying to understand me, for simply being here. You will never know how truly grateful I am for your love and trust."

"Can I take you to bed, love?"

"Please."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of explicitude...and Sherlock gets his revenge...

They were both tired of talking, all they wanted was to be as close as possible, to touch, to discover and know one another.

Sherlock pulled John onto the bed with him. As their bodies fell flush together, they both groaned softly, and began slowly rocking. Sherlock simply held on to John's hips, as John's fingers found their place in his bubble dampened curls. He moved cautiously at first, simply feeling their hips and cocks align sent a shiver through him. "Mmmmm....Sher-can I touch you, love?"

"Yes, please, John."

John rolled on to his side and looked at the man next to him, his pale skin already pink, head thrown back, exposing his long, sensuous neck, his eyes barely opened, lips gently parted. John sighed and ran his fingers lightly over Sherlock's thin, but muscular form. Finally, he straddled his thighs, and took him apart, bit by bit, using feather touches, his tongue, his mouth and his dextrous surgeon's fingers.

"Unnnnnngghhhhh...."

John smiled and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's heavy and leaking cock, stroking him slowly, then speeding up, and at last, he slipped his mouth over the head and sucked as Sherlock came into his mouth, screaming his name, his fingers trying to find leverage in his short hair. He swallowed, then laid down next to his friend, lover and partner in all things. He wrapped his arms around him and held him through the last shivers and kissed his neck, shoulders and the insides of his elbows, bestowing a bit of grace upon the scars from the past.

"John..."

"Sleep, love." John pulled the duvet over them both and switched off the light.

 

"Tea....I need tea..." John muttered, waking to a bright February morning, Sherlock's hair tickled his chin, his fingers stroked his chest, then teased his sensitive nipples. John almost lurched from the bed, except Sherlock's strong hands held him fast. Sherlock moved down his now very awake body, raised his head and whispered a deep, "Good morning, John," before taking him to the root. John came as though it was his first time, his fingers entangled in his lover's wild mess of curls, his mind a complete blank.

When he came to, Sherlock was gazing at him fondly, propped up on one elbow, fully dressed, his fingers entwined with John's. "I'm going to pop over to Speedy's for some sandwiches, then make some tea. Rest, yeah? He kissed his lips softly, and bounced from the bed. 

"Mmmmmm, I love you."

"I love you. Back in a flash."

John took his time clearing the fog, then got up and took a shower, found his softest corduroys, and a deep blue sweater. He wandered to the lounge to find Mycroft sitting in his chair, reading the Society page. 

"It appears Sherlock is avenged despite his forbearance; right after his ceremony, he was served with divorce papers, his bank 'let him go' and his mistress is now living with his soon to be ex wife...I had absolutely nothing to do with it, which makes it all the sweeter. And on a more personal note, you may be interested to know that the once Byronic figure is no longer as such."

He handed John the paper, bowed deeply and departed.

"Damn...I almost feel sorry for him, karma's a bitch." He was still chuckling as Sherlock bounded back into the flat. 

"What was Mycroft doing here?" His eyes narrowed.

"Just dropped off the Society page, thought we might be interested." Sherlock put down the bag he had been carrying and looked at the front page.

"Oh, poor Victor!" Sherlock covered his mouth to suppress a snort, but a giggle escaped between his fingers. The once beautiful young man had aged badly, he seemed much older and softer than his 40 years, the glorious waves had receded to a ridiculous comb over, he squinted at the camera through strong lenses, and his sedentary life as a banker had done him no favours, 

"Here, love, read it, I'll make the tea." He kissed the top of Sherlock's head as he left the room.

They spent a contented morning reading about the downfall of one Victor Trevor, drinking copious amounts of tea, feeding each other bacon sandwiches and snuggling on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yes, I do imagine Victor ending up looking a bit like a certain businessman running for President in the States...ugh


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of back story for Sherlock and Lestrade...and finally, a case...

Sherlock sighed, "I suppose I should take a look at the files Lestrade sent over..."

"Mmmm..." John was quite comfortable where he was, spooned around Sherlock, full of tea and sandwiches, ready for a morning kip.

"Sometimes they are interesting, mostly they give me a few minutes of entertainment as I mentally correct all the horrendous grammar and spelling..."

"When did you meet Lestrade?"

"Hmm? Oh. I occasionally bumped into him when I was living rough. After the Victor incident, Mycroft put me in a 30 day rehab, but their security was ludicrous, I broke out after a couple of days...had some money still, so stayed at some cheap hotels for a week or two, then Mycroft closed my accounts, hoping that would send me running home. As if. Eventually, I found a group of homeless kids who lived in a youth hostel, they taught me the streets, how to stay safe, they gave me a place...sometimes we would rumble..."

"You rumbled?" John was trying to imagine a younger, thinner version of the man who sat up and pressed his fingers together, street fighting and failed.

"Lestrade was a sergeant then, and he would be in charge of the cops who broke up the fights, we were usually faster than them, but one time, I tripped trying to get away and sprained my ankle badly. Lestrade recognized me, and instead of taking me in, took me for a coffee and a roll, and bought me an ankle wrap. We chatted for a bit, and I deduced him a bit too far, including his failed marriage and his wife's infidelity. I had no use for tact in those days ('yeah, laugh...') but instead of getting angry, he laughed and said, "If you cleaned up, you'd make a great cop...no...on second thought...you'd make a great private detective. I don't think you'd do well with the brass."

"He had you figured out," John grinned.

"Sometimes he would find me when he was stuck on something, bring me a sandwich, give me a couple of pounds, mostly just check on me from time to time, until one time I uhm...od'd. The kids knew that we were chummy, so they called him, and he found me. Took me to A & E...of course, Mycroft was there waiting...second trip to rehab...six months this time, up north, I finished that program, spent most of my time in the library, studying forensics, I was able to call home once a month. so I called Lestrade and asked for books, and he would send them. After that stint, Mycroft set me up on Montague, with a small allowance, I stayed clean for a while, that's when Angelo was in trouble, I spent a couple weeks bugging Lestrade to look at the case again, showing him how the evidence was wrong...it was better than the best high, I got addicted to being part of a puzzle, and when it was over, I crashed hard...."

"Ahh, Sherlock's Greatest Hits...sorry bad pun..."

"Geoff?! How long-"

"Long enough, was wondering, if you'd like a shot at a crime scene? I have a good one, Anderson's out sick, so you don't have to deal with him, bring John along, he might want to see you in action?"

"Seriously, Greg, are you sure?" John grinned, feeling the joy that radiated from the younger man.

"I think you are ready, but we got to go now, you up for it?"

"Yes. Uhm, thank you."

"I'll text you the location, we'll be waiting for you."


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock jumped from the couch as if struck by lightning, pushed his feet into his shoes, threw his coat and scarf on and was headed down the stairs before John could blink.

"Aren't you coming? It's a case, John!! Come on!"

"Coming, love, give a bloke a minute, yeah?"

Soon Sherlock was hailing a cab, and they were on their way...

John watched in amazement as his Sherlock changed into Consulting Detective mode, it reminded him of those Transformer toys he played with as a kid, cars that turned into robots...in this case, the man next to him went from cuddly and sweet to stone faced in a matter of moments. He understood that his Sherlock was in resting mode.

In minutes, they had reached the crime scene, a locked room, blood stains everywhere, but an empty flat otherwise, especially...

"No body."

"No shit, Sherlock," grumped an already annoyed Donovan.

"Ah...Donovan..."

"Who is this?"

"My assistant."

"No, I mean who is he?"

"Dr. John Watson, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan...happy, now?"

"So, who should be here, but isn't?"

"That's the problem. No one is missing from this flat, the last tenants were supposed to have moved out a month ago, and according to available records, they did..."

"Did you send a sample of the blood stains to the lab, yet?"

"No, genius, we were waiting for you to demand it...of course we got samples sent over already..."

"Donovan...enuf."

"Sir."

Sherlock took out his magnifier and examined the room, inch by inch, no one moved or said a word.

"Can you just stop?"

"No one said anything, Sherlock," John murmured.

"You are all thinking too damn loudly."

Lestrade pulled John aside, "Maybe you and I can go outside and shoot the breeze, he'll be a while. He and Donovan don't get along, but they work together just fine."

Once outside, John asked. "Can I ask what happened on the last case?"

"Mmmmm...it was one of his Homeless Network, one of the kids he lived with back when...ya know...anyway, one of them was killed by a serial killer, and he took it very, very personally. First time I've seen him lose it on a scene, but once he recovered, he spent weeks putting all the pieces together, it almost killed him, but he solved a case that began twenty years ago. Without him, homeless kids would still be dying now. After he solved it, he seemed fine, but I should've checked on him, finally a week after it was closed I went to Baker Street and found him. There was a note for me, asking me to watch over his friends and not to blame myself. Luckily he had just taken the hit, and was still semi-conscious when I showed up. He had waited til Mrs. Hudson was at her sister's, and his brother was abroad, so he knew I'd probably be the one to find him..."

"Damn, Greg."

"Yeah...that's why I banned him from crime scenes til he went to rehab and was clean for 7 months. It just about finished me, finding him again like that, he had come so far, to end all that brilliance that way...I came close to resigning. I should've kept a closer eye on him...guess that's your job now, eh?"

"No, my job is to love him."

"So it's serious, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They stood in silence, shivering in the February wind. 

 

"You're good for him. I can tell. Never seen him happy before. It looks good on him."

"Thanks, he's special..."

"Yeah, always has been. He just hadn't found someone who appreciated it until you."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a fan of Donovan on the show, she's too meh, but I like making her a good guy once in a while.

"Are there CCTV cameras near the entrances?"

"Yes and no, we already asked to see the images from the last couple of weeks, seems the cameras conveniently 'malfunctioned.'

"Naturally."

"So, this Watson guy?"

"Ask the question, Donovan-"

"You two serious?"

"If by serious you mean living together and snogging all over the flat, then yes."

"That's, uhm, great, Sherlock, really."

"Who are you and what did you do with Sgt. Donovan?"

"No, I mean it, I know the last few months have been awful for you, and I think it's great. Really."

"Uhm, damn, that's generous of you, Donovan. I appreciate the uhm, sentiment...hmm."

"Anyway. yeah. Cameras are a bust, we are trying to get a warrant to get the cameras that are in the hallway, but I have the feeling it will give us nothing useful." 

"Any other recent scenes like this?"

"Hmmm, no, but that's an idea I can check the databases. The room is very clean, other than the blood splatters, there was a very strong bleach odour when we opened the door."

"Are there complaints against the people who manage the building? Could it be a protest, or a threat? Trying to get them bad press in some way?"

"Interesting thought, we can check to see if the same company owns other buildings..."

"Any other impressions hit you as you entered the flat? Scents? Anything that felt off?"

"Maybe a hint of perfume, floral and a bit of spice. Rose, I think?"

"Good, that's good, Donovan. I'm assuming your guy got photos, can you have them emailed to me? I don't think we are going to get much more from this scene, but I'd take up the carpet, maybe there's something we aren't seeing."

"Yeah, will do."

"Thank you, Donovan."

"Uhm, yeah."

"Let me know if something pops up, yeah?"

"Sure."

"We'll be at Baker Street-"

 

"John, we're done here."

"Sure?"

"Yep."

"Lestrade, Donovan will let us know if there are developments - I'll check in tomorrow if I come up with anything."

"Er, yeah, ok, hey John, anytime this guy Mind Palaces out on you, I'm happy to meet you for a pint."

"Great, sounds good."

 

Sherlock summoned a taxi, and within minutes they opened the door to the flat. Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, then pushed John against the wall.

"God, I've missed you."

"Me too."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> casework, a bit of Chinese and a 'night off'

"Anything strike you as odd about the scene, John?"

Donovan had emailed Sherlock the photos an hour after they had returned, along with details regarding who owned the building. They were still waiting on the results of the samples they sent to Molly, and for the warrant for the hallway cameras.

John was working through the leftover Chinese as Sherlock pinned the blown up crime scene photos. He stood up and looked at them carefully. 

"Mmmmm...There's too much and yet not enough. I don't think there was ever a body there. If there had been, the victim was killed elsewhere, it looks like someone used a brush and spattered the walls with paint, too random and too symmetrical..."

"Exactly-" Sherlock walked over to John and kissed him. "Exactly."

John grinned and fed Sherlock a bite of chicken from his chopsticks, then kissed him back.

"Do we know how the scene was discovered?"

"Hmmm?"

"I mean, did an anonymous person call it in? How did Lestrade get notified about the scene? I assume the manager of the building had to go through the window to get in, if it was locked from the inside?"

 

Who called you about the scene? - SH

Manager, said she was getting ready to show it later, but found it locked, had to go through the window - GL

So no anonymous tip, it wasn't important when the scene was found, no timetable. - SH

Nope. - GL

Got the blood work back, it is human. - GL

Have Molly check to see if the blood was frozen. - SH

Will do. - GL

 

"So someone wanted to scare the manager, maybe they knew she was going to show it today?"

"Ex boyfriend, girlfriend...disgruntled employee...evicted tenant...need to know if this has happened in other buildings...what do we know about the company who owns the buildi-"

John stood in front of Sherlock and fed him a dumpling, effectively stopping the pacing and the ramble of words. 

 

Did you interview the manager? - SH

A bit. She was a little green, so we let her go home, can't stand the sight of blood. - GL

Find out if she recently broke up with someone, someone who would know that. - SH

Got it. - GL

Going to turn phone off til tomorrow morning. - SH

Understood. ;) - GL

 

"Angelo was right..."

"About?"

"You are definitely much more expressive than Billy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uhhummm..."

Sherlock took the plate away from John, put it on the coffee table, and hooked a finger through a belt loop. "I took the evening off."

"Did you now? Anything particular you wanted to -"

Sherlock nuzzled John's neck as he began to unzip his trousers.

"Uhhhhmmmmm..."

"Thought we'd stay in, finish leftovers..."

"Hmmmm...."

Sherlock's hand reached underneath John's shirt, and skimmed lightly over his tightening abs. 

"Bedr-"

"You are so full of good ideas this evening, love." Sherlock unbuttoned John's shirt, then lightly teased one already hardening nipple with his tongue.

"Sher-unless you want this to be over reallllllly....ohhhhhhh"

Sherlock cleared the couch and laid John down on it, removing his trousers and his red shorts.

"Red??? Damnnn."

"Uhmmmmmmm...."

Sherlock blew lightly over John's very interested cock, and John almost flew from the couch.

"Fuck..."

"Maybe later, love."


	20. Chapter 20

Sent 8:00 pm

Manager had just dumped her boyfriend. - SD

Sent 8:02 pm

Fought with her best friend. - SD

Sent 8:05 pm

Fired two custodians...damn, this girl is even less of a people person than you are! - SD

Sent 8:06 pm

Sorry, no offense, but damn! - SD

 

Sherlock yawned and turned his phone back on to find the flurry of Donovan's texts.

 

None taken, any siblings she manage to piss off? - SH

Not that I know of. - SD

Bring them all in, check their alibis...- SH

Do you want to sit in on the interviews? - SD

When? - SH

We're picking up the ex-boyfriend first, he should be at the station in 10? - SD

We'll be there. - SH

Thanks - SD

 

"John?"

"Hmmm?"

"They want us to sit in on the interviews, ten minutes-"

"Wha??"

"How about you have a lie-in, and I'll text you about the suspects?"

"Mmmmkay. Sounds lovely."

"Be home as soon as I can."

"Kay-love you"

"Love you, more." He kissed John's nose, threw on his clothes, and was flying down the stairs in under five minutes.

John went back to sleep for another forty-five minutes before a nightmare hit.

"Fuck!"

 

He managed to calm his breathing, and focused on Sherlock's scent that surrounded him."Damndamndamn!" He rolled out of bed and turned the shower on, he got in and closed his eyes, thinking back to the previous night.

They didn't move from the couch for over an hour and a half; Sherlock took John apart inch by inch, in excruciating detail. He was shaking for ten minutes after he finally came into Sherlock's willing mouth.

"John, are you okay? Talk to me-"

"Yeaaahhh...I think so, who are you and what did you do to my brain?"

"You are magnificent."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"Are you hungry?"

"Uh uh."

"Bed?"

"Yes, please."

Sherlock stood up and began to unbutton his shirt, when John whispered. "Stop, please allow me?"

Sherlock's fingers froze and he nodded. John sat up carefully, and pulled Sherlock onto the couch next to him, then straddled his thighs. "Do you know how hot you were on that crime scene today? Your eyes flashed green, then blue, your breathing slowed, the way you stalked the room....I wanted...to.push.you.against.the.door...."

"Johhhn...please..."

John took his time unbuttoning the indigo silk shirt that made his eyes glow, his fingers found the dark pink nubs, and Sherlock bucked up against John's already half-hard cock. "Shhh...easy...."

"I want..."

"What do you want, love?"

"I want to be inside you....neeed to be inside you....please..."

"Oh, God, yes..."

John stood, and lifted Sherlock off the couch, Sherlock's legs wrapped around John's hips and he nuzzled John's neck as he carried him to bed.

"Damn!" The shower had been running cold for a couple minutes before he realized it. He shut it off and dried off. "Tea. I need tea."


	21. Chapter 21

John was sitting in his chair holding a cold cup of tea that he had taken one sip of when Sherlock came laughing up the stairs. "For my first case back, it was ridiculously easy, but at least it had some features of inter-" he stopped short when he saw John sitting in his chair, not moving, barely breathing.

"John?" He sat down on the floor in front of his flatmate and partner. Damnit....what, no. Last night was too much-I knew we should've waited...he wasn't ready-

John shook his head. "No, love. Last night was amazing. I went back to sleep after you left, I uhm, had a nightmare. It wasn't Afghanistan this time. It was the day my father left..."

"John. I am not leaving you. Look.at.me. Please?" 

John raised his eyes to look at Sherlock. He nodded. 

Sherlock stood and offered John his hand, John took it and placed Sherlock's fingers to his lips. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What for?"

"I don't deserve-"

Sherlock shook his head and whispered, "I am not your father. There is nothing you did to make him leave. He was an adult and he made a choice to walk away. There is nothing you can do that will make me walk away from you-"

"I should be over it, It shouldn't matter. He's dead, it doesn't matter anymore-"

"Love, come with me."

John let Sherlock lead them to their room. He helped him into bed, then took his coat, scarf and shoes off and spooned around him, he stroked John's hair until he fell asleep.

 

The late afternoon light danced along John's eyelids and he awoke with a start."Sherlock?!"

"I'm here, love."

"When did you get home?"

"Three hours ago, love."

"Damnit, I made tea, and then I don't remember-"

"You had a nightmare, about your father."

John closed his eyes and sighed. "He left when I was 12. My mum kicked Harry out of the house for being a lesbian and then he left, couldn't stay with someone so 'closed-minded.' He said he wanted to take me with him-"

Sherlock just held him in his arms as he finally let it go. 

"It was not your fault, love. You did nothing wrong, do you hear me? You did nothing wrong, John."

John nodded as his sobs subsided. "You must think-"

"Do you want to know what I think? Hmmm?"

John nodded again, a small smile wrinkled his lips.

"I think I am the luckiest bloke in the world to be here with you, you are so strong, John. You are strong enough to be here, you could have given up so long ago, but you waited for me to catch up. I wouldn't have been ready to love and be loved until now. My life revolves around logic and rational thought, but there is nothing logical about us, and yet. And yet, here we are, John. Somehow, for some reason, we ended up here. I think to heal each other, not to fix each other, but simply to love each other enough to allow us to grow into the people we were supposed to be."

John sat up and rubbed his face. "Feel up for a walk? You haven't told me how your case ended up."

"Go get a shower, and I'll make you tea? And then we'll go for a walk, and I'll tell you all about it, love."

"Want to join me?"

"Are you sure?"

"Please?"

Sherlock nodded and offered John his hand once more.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock walked into the loo and turned the shower on, he undressed and stepped under the water. John slipped in behind him and asked, "May I?"

Sherlock nodded, and felt John's strong arms wrap around him. "I've never been good at talking about 'things,' I thought if I was good enough, tried hard enough, it would be enough. It never was. You found me, or I found you-"

"We found each other."

"...on the almost last day of my life. I was so tired of trying, just breathing was getting harder. I didn't see much point, but for some reason, I made myself get up that morning, met Mike who I hadn't heard from or seen in years, but he texted that morning, somehow had my number..."

Sherlock waited.

"I guess, I'm just trying to thank you. I can sleep when I'm with you, I breathe easier when you are near, you are letting me be me, no one else has ever given me that gift before. Now, I'm going to wash Scotland Yard out of your hair, and then make you tea."

Sherlock turned in his arms and kissed John til he felt his toes curl. "I love you. I love you and all of your broken pieces. You are a treasure, John Watson, and as of this minute, my life will be spent making sure you never forget that."

John nodded and shampooed Sherlock's hair and ran his fingers through his curls, then massaged his scalp, and almost giggled at the moans that escaped from his lover's remarkable mouth.

"Johnnnnnn..."

"No one's ever done this for you before?"

Sherlock was beyond words, his mind was offline, lost to the simple sensation of John's fingers in his hair, against his scalp; he could barely stand.

"Shh, love, I have you. Let go-"

"Johnn, I'm- oh....godddd...."

John held him through the aftershocks of his gentle orgasm, and sank with him to the bottom of the tub, "I have you, love, we are quite a pair you and me. No one else could handle us, I don't think."

Sherlock shuddered again, then opened his eyes and found John smiling down at him. He blinked and reached up to touch him. "There you are, John."

"Time for tea."

"Mmmm, yes, love."


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry angsty day...no worries, fluffy times will return, promise.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen, dressed in his faded well-loved blue dressing gown and pajama bottoms, he was towel drying his hair as he paused and simply observed the man who was licking honey from his fingers. He raised his eyes and grinned shyly at him. So many layers, John, you show the world what you think it wants you to be. Strong, capable, and silent. You are so much more than that; he walked to the couch and dropped down on to it gracefully.

"So, the case...?" John put a plate of toast slathered in honey, on the coffee table in front of him, next to a steaming mug of tea, then kissed his head, and Sherlock took a deep breath and began.

"Turns out the manager was busy burning every bridge she had last week, broke up with her boyfriend of 10 years, stopped speaking to her oldest childhood friend, even stopped communicating with her twin, she'd just fired the two custodians who had worked at the building for decades."

"Bad news?" John asked as he sipped his tea.

"Hmmm?"

"Did she get bad news last week? Or is this normal behaviour for her? Considering her long term relationships, sounds like she knows how to act normally, normally enough to usually keep people attached to her."

"Brain tumour. She did it herself, as soon as I was in the same room with her, I knew. Donovan had noticed the scent of her perfume in the room. Yes, she had supposedly been in the room once she got in through the window, but it shouldn't have been long enough to leave that much of a trace. If she had been in there for hours cleaning it, then spattering her own blood around the room..."

John nodded. "She'd probably been acting a bit off the last couple of weeks, inoperable?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "Once Lestrade knew about her illness, he released her to her boyfriend who took her home, she said she didn't want her family and friends to-"

"-have to watch her die?"

"So she created a crime scene thinking they would have to move the last remaining tenants, then she could simply disappear, die on her own."

"She couldn't think straight anymore."

Sherlock looked at John. "Your mum?"

John nodded, "Happened when I was in Afghanistan, by the time I finally got out of rehab, and found out from my aunt, she didn't recognize me anymore. I had to forgive her, even though she wasn't the person she had been. Had to do it for myself. I was never going to get an apology from the person I had known growing up..."

"John-"

"I'm fine, really, love. Let's get dressed and go for a walk? Finish your toast, yeah?"

"John," Sherlock touched his face, and kissed him. "I'm here."

"I know, love. You should charge by the hour, you are much better than my therapist...sorry, everything seems to be coming to the surface today. Usually it stays buried, but I don't want to hide from you. I've spent too many years hiding."

 

The sunlight was strong for an early February afternoon. As they left Baker Street, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and adjusted his stride to match, John sighed and leaned into him a bit. They walked through the old town together in silence, left to their own thoughts, but they walked as one.


	24. Chapter 24

John sighed as he opened his eyes, he had fallen asleep to Sherlock's violin and the sound of the rain hitting the windows. This morning, the bed was empty but warm, Sherlock's robe was missing from the hook, and he identified the scent of the sausages finally cooking. He also heard the distinct growl of a certain Consulting Detective greatly perturbed. Mycroft or...

"My mother is here!" he hissed as he threw open the bedroom door and flopped face first onto the bed.

"Your mother?"

"My MOTH-ER...she's going to prattle on about her best friend's surgeries, will ask you numerous questions about your 'people' and what to do about sore throats. She is brilliant, but she is quite passionately passive-aggressive about her lack of grandchildren..." the whisper was almost becoming a slight squeak.

"Did you give her tea?"

"Mrs. Hudson is handling that chore. Mycroft must have told her about you, because she wants to meet "the nice doctor that I've heard soooo much about...I'm going to kill him, and then kill him again."

"Breathe, love. It will be fine."

"FINE? There's noth-"

John kissed his mop of curls then rose from the bed. "In Med School, I was renowned for my bedside manner, and I was always great at the 'living room chat.' He dressed in cords, and his oatmeal sweater, and slippers. "It will be fine, love."

"Dr. Holmes?" John put on his warmest neutral smile, and extended a hand. He was only slightly surprised by the strength of her grip. He also knew he was being cross-examined silently.

"You must be Dr. Watson- so sorry to show up unannounced and so early, but I was in town to visit colleagues...you know how my boys are, never quite sure what they are up to."

"May I refresh your cup?"

"Oh, yes, please! Thank you."

Sherlock reentered the room, he had managed to calm his breathing to almost normal and he had resigned himself to the lecture he knew was brewing in his mother's highly organised and meticulous brain.

"Sherlock, dear, when exactly were you going to tell me about your doctor?"

"Moth-"

"We actually just met, what, four days ago now? Love at first sight almost, wouldn't you say, love?" John winked at Sherlock.

"Really." She looked at her son, then at John and seemed satisfied with what she saw. She relaxed a bit, took a sip of tea and smiled.

"So tell me all about it."

 

Got a case, care to take a look? - GL

Yes. Please. - SH

It's at the British Museum, hoping we can still make dinner. - GL

 

"Sorry, Mother, John and I are needed on a case, British Museum. Now."

"Ah well, perhaps next time I'm in town, dear. I'll just visit with Martha for a bit. Now scoot."


	25. Chapter 25

"The Staffordshire Hoard? Seriously?" Sherlock looked down at the text from Lestrade.

"No, really?"

 

Yes, really, truly. Just get here, yeah? - GL

 

John settled back against the seat, and closed his eyes. "So why didn't you-"

"-tell my mother about you, about us?"

"Hmm."

"Didn't want to-"

"Why?"

"Not finished-I didn't want to share you yet. Wasn't ready, didn't want to deal with her doubts, the look. You saw 'the look' already and you've only just met her. I could never get away with a single thing, no secret thing, no wish, nothing, she always could tell. That's one reason I worked so hard to leave home at 16. I was tired of sharing everything. I am not ashamed of you, of us, I just wanted to keep you all mine for a bit longer."

He had been doing research while he spoke, and did not look up until John took his phone away.

"Sorry." John kissed his hand gently.

"No, don't be. I'm not good at sharing what or whom I love. But, you probably guessed that."

"Gents, we're here."

"Ta," John paid the cabbie as Sherlock was already headed for the entrance.

"He's a good 'un."

"Yeah, I know."

"Take good care of him."

"Trying my best."

"Good, Get on wit ya-he's waitin.' "

Sure enough, Sherlock had stopped, his hand on the door, but hadn't opened it yet. John nodded and walked up to the slightly impatient man, kissed him once, then opened the door.

"Guys! Got a strange one for you, and an actual body this time. Told Molly we might be a bit late."

"A challenge, Geoff?"

"If you like."

John rolled his eyes and sighed, he hadn't grabbed breakfast, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.staffordshirehoard.org.uk/
> 
> This story is set in January-February 2010, when a part of the Staffordshire Hoard was on exhibition at the British Museum.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know...angsty angsty, these two are just built this way, it seems. No worries, they will have a nice angst free dinner shortly...

"They had a break-in last night, can't tell if anything is missing and the security guard can't tell us anything, he's your corpse."

Lestrade was holding up the sheet that covered a young man in a security uniform. 

"Uh-uh. I believe he is an accomplice...was - John?"

John knelt by the body. "Usually, he'd be too young for a heart attack, not strangulation..." He rolled up one sleeve past his elbow. "Long time user, mostly old scars...one new injection, probably not self-administered." He caught Sherlock's eye and swore quietly to himself. Sherlock shook his head and bit his lip.

"The uniform isn't quite right, doesn't fit him. Hair a bit long, hasn't shaved in a couple weeks...probably homeless, I don't recognize him, not one of...mine. No walkie-talkie, no phone, no keys, no wallet, no id, they didn't want him to be identified..."

Lestrade put his hand on his shoulder. "You can sit this one out. I unders-"

"No. No, I'm fine, just give me a moment."

Sherlock knelt by the body and pressed his fingers together, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. John is here, I am not alone, he's here, next to me. Breathe, damnit.

"Who was supposed to be working this floor last night?"

"We're checking on that. Donovan's going through the camera footage, seeing if anyone or anything looks odd. How about I send her over with photos if she comes up with anything? You've already helped, go home, yeah?"

John placed his hand between Sherlock's shoulder blades and felt the tension there ease a bit. "Your mum should be gone by now."

"Mum? Saved by the bell, eh? Go for a walk, it's a beautiful day, for once-"

"Check with the homeless shelters, see if they are missing any regulars, he may have been just a look out, a kid who thought he was making some easy money hanging out in a warm museum. I'll try my-"

"Go home, Sherlock, please?"

Sherlock reached for John's hand and walked from the scene. He didn't speak until they were back in the cab, his fingers entwined with John's. "That was my biggest fear. I'd OD and no one would miss me. No one would know to look for me. I have to get him back to his family, John."

"I know, first, we need breakfast, then we need to change clothes, no one will talk to us, as posh as we are...especially you." He smiled gently and kissed Sherlock softly. Sherlock sighed, closed his eyes and leaned into John, not moving or speaking until John led him up to the flat.

"I'm-" Sherlock sat down on the couch, collapsing into himself.

"You're what?" John asked quietly, as he sat next to him, not touching just being near.

"I don't know if I can do this again." He whispered.

"I'm here, you are not alone, we will find out who he was, and get him back to his family. I promise you, love. But, right now, you are going to have some toast and a cuppa, and then we will change and go for a walk, start talking to people. Then we will go to Molly's for dinner. Yeah?"

Sherlock crawled into his lap and looked up at John's determined face. "When was the last time I told you-?"

"I love you, too. Toast - with honey?"

"Mmmmhmmm..."


	27. Chapter 27

Toast (with way too much honey) and tea was had, clothes were changed, and they were headed for the door...

 

Mum is still in town. - MH

I'm on a case. Take her to a matinee. - SH

Are you serious? - MH

Isn't Les Miz still playing somewhere? - SH

Shut up! Lunch? - MH

We are not dressed for the club Mycroft. I promise to call her tomorrow. - SH

Fine. You owe me, brother mine. - MH

 

"Ready?" 

Sherlock nodded as he threw an old cap over his curls and looked in the mirror one last time.

"You're still gorgeous, love. Tonight, after dinner-"

"Don't start, we'll never leave." Sherlock grinned in spite of himself, then touched John's jaw and kissed him deeply.

"You were saying??" John managed after he caught his breath.

"Just something to think about through dinner later."

"Tease."

"No cab, we'll walk, it's only ten minutes away. Bring your gun, just in case."

John heard the shakiness in Sherlock's voice and grabbed his hand. "We can stop if it's too much. This is not on you."

Sherlock shook his head. "Could've been me, John. Should've been, so many times. I was just lucky."

John nodded. "I'm here."

"Yeah. I know." Sherlock squeezed John's hand. How does this work? It doesn't matter, just let it be, we just seem to hold each other up, fill in the other's cracks...remarkable...

"Yeah, we are...let's go, before the weather changes again."

 

We've found the guard who was supposed to be working last night - GL

And? - SH

Doesn't know the kid, doesn't know 'nuthin'... - GL

Great. - SH

Anything on the footage? - SH

Lot of shadowy figures in black, hoods, masks, not much to see. Kid was just an extra set of eyes. - GL

Heading out, will meet you at Molly's at 8, if not before. - SH

 

They walked quietly side by side, until the city changed, homeless kids busked on corners, others simply sat smoking and chatting, doors were closed and voices changed as they passed. Sherlock knocked on a door, and he paused before going in. 

"Stay here, I'll be fine." John glared at him.

"They won't talk with strangers around. I'll be fine, promise." He hissed.

John closed his eyes and nodded. But patted his pocket which held the Browning.

"I love you."

"Go. Before I change my mind."

Five minutes later, Sherlock emerged. "Doesn't know his name, was new, thinks his posh family tossed him out when he came out." His eyes had narrowed and his fists were clenched.

"Damnit, Sherlock..."

"Says he was busking a couple blocks down, says he was good."

"Can't we let Lestr-"

"You promised me." Sherlock spat out the words.

"I just-"

"I know, please trust me, I need to do this. Please, John."

"Where?"

"Two blocks of here, said he had a duffel and his case, and a girl was always with him, never talked, she has a dog."

"C'mon."

Sitting on the corner, nursing a coffee, was a girl wrapped in an over sized coat, a dog curled up by her side. She didn't hear them approach and John held up his hand. 

"I think she's deaf, I learned some back at Uni. Let me try-"

"Hi." He signed.

"What do you want?" Her hands flew, angered at being surprised.

"Just want to help." He answered awkwardly.

"No one can. He's gone."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You know what happened?" She signed in a panic.

"Yes." John shook his head. "I'm so sorry."

"I saw him get into a car. I knew it wasn't a good idea...he told me-"

"I have a friend, can you tell him what you saw, you can help-"

"Cops, you a cop?"

"No, just want to help."

She looked at his face then over at Sherlock. "That's the detective guy-stopped us from getting killed. I know that hair anywhere...Okay, just keep my dog safe?"

John nodded.

Sherlock watched, surprised again by the gentle man in front of him. No one else had ever really taken him by surprise before. John turned and caught his eye, then helped the girl collect the few belongings that sat near her. She looked at Sherlock and nodded. He understood and returned the gesture. She picked up her dog and the three of them headed for Lestrade's office.

 

Bringing in someone who knew the victim. She's deaf and has a dog. - SH

Great. - GL

John can talk to her, and the dog stays with her. - SH

We got nothing else. You got it. - GL

Be there in ten. I'm done. - SH

Thank you. - GL


	28. Chapter 28

Sherlock waited outside the witness room as John helped with Cassie...the girl, Sylvie was the dog, Sam, was the...victim. He hadn't wanted to know, he couldn't, not again.

"Hey."

Donovan...damn.

"Hey...."

"Just thought you could use a coffee. The coffee here is crap, let's go across the street, huh?"

"Let me tell John-"

"He suggested it."

"Course he did. Lead on." He rolled his eyes at John as he passed the door. He sighed and shoved his hands into the unfamiliar pockets, forgetting he wasn't wearing his usual 'uniform' as many here called it.

They crossed to a diner and Donovan ordered two coffees and a piece of pie. "Anything else?"

Sherlock shook his head, simply grateful for the hot coffee when it arrived. He felt frozen, and little of it came from the weather.

"He seems to be a good guy."

"John?"

"Yeah - he seems to have fit in your life pretty easily."

"He gets me, somehow, I don't have to try to explain..."

"He's good for you."

"How do you know?"

"Your eyes are better, clearer, don't know if that makes sense. You're sleeping more, can tell you're eating more already. You are happy. It looks good on you."

Sherlock looked down into his cup. "It's frightening, frankly. He trusts me, and says he loves me...and...I believe him, Donovan. Don't even know why I'm telling you, but, yeah. I love him. He doesn't care that my past is a bit less than, uhm, savoury?"

Donovan snorted and took her last bite of pie. "He absolutely glowed about you in there, he is so gone on you. He's kind, Sherlock, a decent guy...."

"And?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, waiting for the snark.

"And, you are a lucky bloke Sherlock, that's all, not many good guys out there. Believe me..."

"I know, Donovan, don't give up."

Donovan looked up and risked a small smile. "Thanks, Holmes."

 

Done, we can go home. - JW

Be there soon. - SH

 

"Thanks for the coffee, Donovan."

"Anytime."

They walked back to the station each a bit lighter than they had been.

 

John looked up when they walked in the door. "All set, then?"

Sherlock nodded, then stopped, amazed to observe his own happiness reflected back to him in John's eyes. In the few days he had known John, the dark circles had lightened; he was sleeping better, he was eating and his face seemed a bit fuller. He realized all of a sudden that he wasn't afraid anymore. He knew he was as important and necessary to John as John was to him. He took a deep breath, and said, "Yes, love, let's go home."

Donovan turned and gave him a wink; John's eyes startled, then twinkled, understanding that something had changed for Sherlock, and for him; he wasn't a secret anymore. Sherlock took John's hand in his and kissed it, then nodded to Lestrade. "Molly's at 8, yeah?"

Lestrade tried but failed to suppress a grin and shook his head. "See you crazy kids later. Thank you both."


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> extra fluffy...

As soon as they got home, John quietly took Sherlock by the hand and led him to their room.

"Thank you for today," he whispered as he began removing Sherlock's rather un-Sherlockian attire. "It's been so long since..."

"Since...?"

"I felt useful. I loved being a surgeon and then in Afghanistan because I was needed. I had skills that were important. I hadn't felt that in such a long time until today. I was able to be her voice, to tell her story. Thank you."

"You were brilliant, John." He sighed as John pulled the hoodie over his head, then began to undo the jeans that fit him just a shade too well. 

"Do you know how long I've wanted to get these off of you?" John slid them from his body then paused removed the cap from his head and ruffled his curls. "Since I watched you walk down the stairs to the cab..."

"Johnnnnn...." He opened his eyes to see John undressing. "...slow down."

John stopped. "Am I going too fast?"

"I want to see you, really see you, feel your heartbeat in my fingers, know every part of what makes you, you. I love you in a way that I struggle to put into thoughts, into words, John. All I know is that I am more because you love me. You have given me permission to be someone who is capable of truly loving another person, and I never believed that was possible for me. I saw my love for you in your eyes when we were at the station, somehow you carry it there, my love radiates from you. And I hope you see your love for me in my eyes when you look in them. I was broken, so afraid of allowing myself to care again, but you showed me your own pain, your own fears and you let me in, trusted me, damn...I'm not making sense."

John stood speechless as Sherlock's words flowed through him and enveloped him. Then cleared his throat as Sherlock's tumble of words stopped. "Come rest with me for a bit, love, yeah?" 

Sherlock nodded shyly, offered John his hand and they fell into bed. John laughed, a pure sound of joy that turned Sherlock's finely tuned brain to mush. "John, I love you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes." He placed John's hand against his chest, and John closed his eyes and ignored everything but the sound of Sherlock's heartbeat crashing wildly against his fingertips. "You do that to me, John...and at first it terrified me. You have control of the very center of my being, it belongs to you. From the very moment our eyes met. I knew." John kissed the words from Sherlock's lips, and wrapped his arms around him.

"I do know, I know all of it, and you said it much better than I ever could. All I know is that I started living in colour again when I met you, before, my life had become gray, just so much fog. You cleared it away for me." Sherlock kissed John's fingers and closed his eyes.

They laid there simply breathing together until it was time to get ready for Molly's, then John led them to the shower, and they washed the day from one another, as if they were both reborn in some way.

 

"Need a good bottle of wine-"

"There's a place near Molly's, I know what she likes."

"Thought you might." John smirked.

"Hurry up...wear those red pants tonight..."

"Why?"

"So I can think of how I will take them off of you when we get home while I listen to you make small talk."

"Git." John kissed the smirking mouth into silence.

"None of that now, mustn't be late."

"I love you."

"Love you more."


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of Molstrade...

"Why are you so nervous, sweetie? It's just Sherlock and John - as long as it's not Chinese food, they'll devour it. At least John will."

"Does he know? About us?"

"Of course he does...oh, you mean...I didn't tell him, and he's been a bit distracted of late...but if you keep looking at me like that, he will know the minute he walks in the door."

"I'm still not sure..."

"About?"

"John - I mean, it's been four days. How can he know?"

"Molls, Donovan took Sherlock for a coffee. She bought him a coffee and they 'chatted.' "

"But...they hate each other...and he doesn't 'chat.' She bought him a coffee?"

"Since he's been back on cases he's different, and since that last one, Donovan felt bad that she didn't check on him too. So she's cutting him some slack. Point I'm trying to make is that he's happy, and he backed off this last one when he knew it was too much, let John take him home when he had done enough."

Molly stared at him, almost dropping her spoon in the sauce.

"Hey, pay attention, or we will have to order Chinese."

Molly laughed and stirred as Lestrade kissed her neck. She leaned back against him and sighed. "Ok, I'll give him a chance. But..."

"I'll tell Sherlock to test John's food for him."

"Not funny! But if he hurts him, I won't be that subtle."

"I know, I'll know who did it if I find John with one of your chef's knives in his chest."

"Gregory..."

"Molls..."

"We don't have time, they'll be here any min-"

 

"Hullo, lovebirds, all right, Molly, show me the ring..."


	31. Chapter 31

"Show me."

Molly grinned and showed him her hand. It was simple and elegant, a single diamond on a white gold band.

"Very nice." Sherlock gave her a kiss on both cheeks, and punched Lestrade lightly on the shoulder. "About time, old man. No, seriously, it's lovely. I'm happy for you both. I get to help plan it, right?"

"Uhm, sure, but who are you, you look like Sherlock, sound like him, but..."

"Hey, Molly."

"John, nice to see you. Don't worry I don't normally poison anyone until dessert. And the knives aren't that sharp."

"Good to know. Here's the wine, Sherlock said this was your favourite?"

"Oh, you got the good stuff...you shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have."

"Go sit all of you, dinner's almost ready, no Chinese tonight, figured you guys might be sick of that by now."

John laughed and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist, Sherlock somehow leaned into the smaller man without it looking awkward. "Yeah..a bit." 

Molly nodded. They fit together. He's truly happy and relaxed, he looks healthier than I've ever seen him. "Go- get out of my kitchen, pour some wine, be useful."

Lestrade caught her eye and she smiled. He was going to be fine.

 

"...so how are you settling in, John?" Sherlock and Lestrade were sitting on the couch looking over photos from the museum, while they sat at the table drinking coffee of the non-poisoned variety.

"John grinned at her. "I think we're adjusting just fine, Molly. We're not used to living with other people, but it helps that we love each other."

"You told him that already?" Molly's eyes widened. 

"Yeah, I knew when I saw him."

"And...?"

"It's been reciprocated in full. Honestly, Molly. He knows I'm not leaving, I know he's not going anywhere. We fit each other's brokenness. I know all I need to about his past, he's learning all my crap, and there's a lot. He's a remarkable human being, and there will never be a day that he doesn't know that from me."

Molly touched his face and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, John. I knew some day he would find you. Just took a long time. Thank you."

John looked over at Sherlock, who had been watching them, and winked at him. Sherlock nodded. "I'll take these with me and see if I can tell anything from them, you're right though, very dark. But I'd look at someone who knows the layout of the museum, specifically of the exhibit itself. They can find what they want in the dark, and they did a good job avoiding the hidden cameras, so it's someone on the inside, or they gave someone the plans. We should be able to figure out how tall they are from what we've got, and if there's audio, maybe we can something from their voices."

"Sounds like a plan."

Sherlock grabbed the envelope and headed over to Molly. He gave her a big hug and whispered, "He loves me, Molls."

"I know, sweetie."

"Thank you, George, been a lovely evening, see you tomorrow, 11ish?"

"Git. Sounds good, thanks for coming over."

"Congratulations, Greg, you two are great, thank you-"

"What fer?"

"For watching out for him."

"Yeah, someone had to."

"Night."

 

They walked out into the night hand in hand; Sherlock leaned into John and whispered, "I love you. I want to go home and make love to you til the sun rises."

"Oh, God, yes."


	32. Chapter 32

John propped himself up on his good shoulder and looked up at Sherlock as he went through the photos again. "What happened yesterday at Scotland Yard?"

"Hmmm?"

"Something changed, for you, what was it?"

Sherlock yawned, rubbed his eyes and put the photos on the table. He closed his eyes and thought back to yesterday morning. "I wasn't afraid anymore. I talked to Donovan, and she made me see things about myself, about you, that I was trying to ignore."

"What things?" John moved to straddle Sherlock's thighs, and gently kissed his neck.

"Mmmmm...how we take care of each other, how we seem to know what the other is thinking before...ohhhhh....god. Yeahhhh...mmmmm....hmm...You, uhm, allow me to be human, I don't have to be perfect for someone, for you, to love and care for me. I never thought I'd want that, or that someone could give me that. I thought if I had the Work, it would be enough for me. But, I finally got back to being on crime scenes, and all I wanted to do was crawl back to my safe place, you. I need the puzzles, but I need you just as much, want you more. It scared me, beca--damnnnnn...howww....do you..."

"This?" John found that spot again that made speech nearly impossible and breathing not so boring.

"Yessss...."

"You were saying?"

"Mmmm. It scared me because I never wanted to depend on anyone else, need someone else...but I'd never been happy before...til the night I watched you eating Curry Chicken and laughing on my couch. I felt something break in me, and something filled me up at the same moment. I wanted more of that, that joy, thaaaat....oh, John....it didn't matter what else came with it. Contentment, John, peace, and....don't you dare stop doing that....right there..."

John watched as Sherlock completely fell apart under his fingers, watched as his eyes closed and his lips parted gently and his body tensed. "Ohhhhhhhhh...dammmmmmnnn....hold on to me...." John kissed those lips and held on tightly, until the earth stopped shaking and Sherlock passed out from sheer exhaustion.

"I love you in ways that haven't been invented yet, Sherlock." John got a flannel, cleaned both of them, then turned off the light and fell asleep against Sherlock's chest, his own safe place.

 

Anything new? - SH

Morning, Sunshine, yeah, a possibility. Curator got fired a couple of weeks ago, going to talk to him today. Anything from the photos? - GL

Not much, but one of the figures seems to be of above average height, on the thinner side, the other much shorter in comparison, possible female. - SH

That's something, I'll let you know if anything happens. Thanks for being at the house last night, meant a lot to both of us. - GL

You guys mean a lot to me. To us. - SH

Take a day off - will keep you in the loop. - GL

Yeah. Thanks - SH

 

Sherlock rolled over to find John trying to wake up from another nightmare. He wrapped his arms and legs around him as tightly as he could, as if he could stop the nightmare from happening simply by holding on. "I'm here, love. Shhhh....you are safe..." He felt John's tears on his chest and his fingers tighten on his back. "Shhhh...I love you, I'm here. I'm not letting you go...."

John opened his eyes and choked back a sob. 

"It's okay, John. Look at me?"

John touched his face and nodded; then he curled against him, and took a deep breath. "How I did this every day without you, I'll never know."

"You will never have to wake up without me ever again. I promise." 

John murmured, "I know, love."

"Tea?"

"Mmm...not yet?"

"I've got all day, and all night...forever if need be.'

"Turning you into a romantic, I am."

"Hmmphhhh."

John grinned and kissed the nose crinkle that appeared when Sherlock thought he had lost his mind.

"I have lost my mind, love. Not that big a loss."

Sherlock laughed and squeezed him tighter. "I love you."

"I know."

John took a few more deep breaths, then looked into Sherlock's glittering eyes and nodded. "Let's make some tea, yeah?"

"We're out of toast and honey, want to teach me how to grocery shop without breaking out in hives?"

"It would be my pleasure, life without honey is-"

"Unfathomable."


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go to the shops, a bit of domestic goofiness...and this is totally a fictionalized British grocery that I'm writing about, basically I'm throwing the boys into an American Whole Foods, a store which would blow Sherlock's mind, as it does mine. 
> 
> and the promised call to Mum...

"So....when was the last time you went to the shops?"

"Hmmm...not sure...Mrs. Hudson usually checks the fridge once a week, sighs in disgust and gets me a few things. Most of my clothing comes from my tailor and it's delivered, and I order my lab equipment, hair products and toiletries online..."

"...and they are all delivered, got it. Well, let's start small, milk, bread, honey, maybe some eggs..."

 

an hour later...

"But honestly, John, they have twenty different honeys...a whole aisle of bread...and another aisle of just biscuits. How do average people do this every week?" 

John laughed. The expression on Sherlock's face ran the gamut from amazement to bewilderment and John's personal favourite, the childlike delight of a four year old in a candy store, and back again. 

"Yes, love, mere mortals do this on a regular basis. How about we try two varieties of honey, and a couple of loaves of bread each time we shop? Less overwhelming, and you can thoroughly test each one?"

Sherlock kissed him, and took an hour looking over the honey before deciding on three. "Pleeeeasssse, John?"

They ended up with three jars of honey, a loaf of bread, three types of biscuits, all chocolate; one dozen eggs, three tins of tea, two pints of milk and fresh sausages from the butcher next door. It only took four hours.

Sherlock bounded up the stairs with the bags while John shook his head as he paid the cabbie. 

 

The next few hours passed in a blissful honey scented haze, and it would be years before John could even look at certain types of honey, actually any variety or bees in general, without reaching for Sherlock and kissing him soundly. Needless to say (though it will be noted by the author), Sherlock made sure to always have honey at their breakfast table.

 

"Hullo, Mother?"

"Sherlock? Is something wrong?"

"I told Mycroft I would call you."

"How is the case going, dear?"

"Slowly, not a lot to work with as yet."

"How is John?"

"Fine, he's just fine, and yes, he's still here." 

"Now, dear, I didn't..."

"I could hear it, Mum, I can always hear what you are really thinking."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just don't want you to get hurt. Mycroft assured me all was well, but I just worry, it's what I do."

"Yes, Mum, I know. I promise to bring John to see you when the bees are buzzing in the garden."

"Really, you'll come? Your room is still the same, you may want a larger room though..."

"Yes, Mum. I promise, and yes, a bigger room would be lovely, I'm not 16 anymore."

"I can't wait to show John all the scrapbooks-"

"Oh, Mum..."

"Just a few snaps?"

John nodded at him. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue at John before he replied:

"All right, Mum."

"I love you dear, I'm so glad you are happy, I can tell, you know."

"Yes, Mum. I love you too."

"Good night, Sherlock, thank you for calling."

"Night, Mum."

 

"It wasn't that difficult, was it?" John asked as he snuggled back into Sherlock's arms.

"No...I just always feel like a teenager when I speak to her. I'll always be 16 to her; I'm her one failure."

John sat up and turned Sherlock's face towards him so he couldn't turn away. "No, love. You are no one's failure. You are brilliant, thoughtful and so fucking brave. You are my miracle, my hope and my joy. You are not anyone's failure, love. Some day, you will know it."

"Thank you, John."

"For what, love?"

"For today, for your patience, your kindness and for being you." Sherlock ruffled John's hair and smiled at him, then kissed him before he switched off the light.


	34. Chapter 34

John blinked awake to find Sherlock wrapped around him, apparently listening intently to his heartbeat, his fingers tracing the scar, almost absentmindedly, perhaps memorizing it. He realized it no longer bothered him to be seen for everything that he was. Before he returned from Afghanistan, scarred and broken, he had moved easily through the world, his internal scars were well hidden by his competence and usefulness. Now, Sherlock was unwrapping him, layer by layer, and though at first it was like ripping a bandage off of a gaping wound, now it was becoming easier to face his ghosts, because he was no longer facing them on his own.

Sherlock whispered, "tell me what you are thinking?" 

John laughed. "I'm sure you can already tell, or do you mean what am I thinking besides I'd rather not leave the bed today?

Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbow and looked at him seriously for a long moment in silence, then shook his head. "I don't want to guess with you, I can deduce most people because they don't know how to hide their feelings; you are not so easily read. I don't want to hurt you by making assumptions, and then acting on them. Please, what were you thinking when you woke up?"

John reached out to brush a curl from Sherlock's eyes."I was thinking about how you are turning me inside out and sideways, and how I don't mind so much. I'm also thinking I'm hungry and there may be a smidge of honey left? And...oh....yes...I love you beyond reason." He pulled Sherlock to lay flush against him, so he could feel the physical truth of his last words.

"Johnnnn..." Sherlock's voice rumbled against his chest and hips and John couldn't help but smile and rock into him. John closed his eyes and waited for Sherlock to move, and he did, slowly, at first, then gradually, sped up, searching for that one connection."John, look at me, please, let me see your eyes?" he whimpered, barely able to speak. John forced his eyes open and was rewarded by Sherlock's beautiful eyes locked into his, and his swore he could see his heart in them. "Sher-lockkkk....oh godddddd...." and he kissed him hard as he came untouched. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and found Sherlock cleaning him gently. 

"Hey there, love," Sherlock smiled softly. He caressed his jawline and kissed his chin, then his lips. "Time for breakfast. Go get a shower and I'll make tea this morning, yeah?" 

"Mmmmm, sounds perfect." Sherlock slipped from the bed and John propped himself up so he could admire the lean, graceful figure as he threw on his dressing gown and swept from their room.

John rose slowly, stretching and popping, breathing in another morning; a new day where his heart didn't ache anymore. His feet found his slippers and he shuffled to the shower, his mind still lost in what he saw in Sherlock's eyes. 

He showered efficiently as he had always done the last few years, but slowed down to consider the last few days; from his earliest memories, he had learned not to give too much too soon, as it inevitably cost too much at the end. And there was always an ending, he was left or he left before things got complicated. Now, he realized he had to rely on his instinct which kept telling him this was it, he was home. He suddenly understood that was what he had seen in Sherlock's eyes. He, too, had found his place, which was with him.

He turned off the water, dried off and looked at himself in the mirror. He was taken aback by the face that was reflected in the glass, he somehow looked younger, the grey highlights notwithstanding, his eyes were brighter, the dark circles under his eyes had all but vanished, and his face looked open, ready to take on whatever the world threw at him. He hadn't seen that version of himself in years, and he took a deep breath, laid his hand on the mirror and closed his eyes.

"Tea!" Sherlock knocked on the door. "John? You usually take 7.4 minutes in the morning, are you all right?"

"Fine, I'm fine, love." John called back, and for the first time in a long time, he truly was fine. "I'm coming."


	35. Chapter 35

There was tea and a plate of toast with the very last smidge of yesterday's honey on the table by his chair. Sherlock was on the couch surrounded by piles of photos, the almost completely black images of the museum. 

"Nothing...nothing there..."

"Anything from Lestrade?" 

"He's interviewed the curator who was fired, seems he has an alibi, though..."

"Any friends annoyed that he got fired?"

"Hmmm?" Sherlock looked up from the photos to look at John.

"Co-workers who might be willing to break into the museum because he was let go, to make the museum look incompetent?"

Sherlock blinked and nodded.

Any co-workers unduly upset over the firing of the curator? - SH

Still interviewing his secretary and assistants, do you two have anything on, wanna come sit in? - GL

Sherlock looked over at John, remembering the last time he went on his own. "John, do you mind if we go sit in on some interviews?"

John looked up from the paper and knew Sherlock itched to go. "I can be ready in ten minutes."

Be there in an hour. - SH

He turned off his phone and walked over to John's chair, took the paper away and took him by the hand. "I need you."

John followed him to their room, then stopped, turned Sherlock towards him, untied his gown and watched as it fluttered to the floor. "John, please, make love to me?" Sherlock whispered. John nodded and kissed him gently, then laid him on the bed, and piece by piece, lovingly shut down Sherlock's brilliant mind.

Forty-five minutes later, they were in a cab headed for Scotland Yard.


	36. Chapter 36

John watched as Lestrade and Sherlock interviewed yet another museum assistant who extolled the virtues of their former boss, everyone seemed to enjoy working for him, everyone seemed dedicated, but not overly so, they all worked for a 'great institution' and were 'lucky' to work for something they believed in. They had been at it for over four hours, and they were no closer to an answer.

Donovan yawned and asked if he wanted a coffee. 

"Sure, if it's not too much trouble?"

"No trouble, especially if you don't mind sludge."

"I was a military surgeon. Used to live on the stuff. Can I ask you a question?"

"You want to know what he was like before."

John nodded.

Donovan poured him a cup of the office sludge, then grinned. "Around here, we talk about Sherlock in terms of BW and AW and you guys have known each other, what, less than a week? Before Watson and After Watson. There are newbies who didn't know him before he met you, then they hear stories and they can't believe it's the same guy. He was, to be honest, a total arse, brilliant, but he could make a twenty year vet break down in tears from his 'deductions', they'd be poshly delivered, and he was cold as ice, couldn't care less what came out of his mouth. I could've sworn he didn't have a single emotion in that great big brain of his, until that last case before he met you. He knew the kid, had known him for years. I actually saw him fall to his knees when he found out who it was. Then he pulled himself together and it took weeks, but he solved it, nearly killing himself in the process. Then he met you. He actually smiled at me today, just about knocked me over. Lestrade almost dropped his coffee. Yeah, he's different and yet still the same brilliant arse. I'm sure if any of these museum people are lying he will know."

Just then, Sherlock walked out of the interview room, sighing and rubbing his eyes. "They are all in on it. Answers are all rehearsed, though they've been taught well. They didn't mean for the kid to die, and they are all terrified of whoever is the money behind it. There's someone big behind it, they are sticking together, no one is caving yet, just need to get one of them to unravel, damn it. Anything on the car that Cassie saw Sam get into?"

Donovan shook her head. "Nothing yet, we've been trying to find the license number she gave us, no joy there, hoping something will break on that soon."

"Yeah, thanks, need to clear my head, we'll be at Baker Street if anything changes, just send me a text, please?"

"Will do." Donovan flashed a grin at John, then grabbed another coffee for Lestrade and went back into the interview room.

"Let's go for a walk, yeah?" John suggested as the weather was decent for a mid-afternoon in February. Sherlock nodded and took John's offered hand as they left Scotland Yard.

They walked in silence, Sherlock matching John's stride, not caring where they were going, just content to be with him. John stopped at a bench outside Bart's and sat down, bringing Sherlock to sit next him, not letting go of his hand.

He sat for a few minutes, not speaking, just looking at Sherlock's hand in his, feeling the callouses from years of violin, tracing the splashes from experiments gone wrong(or right, knowing Sherlock, who knew?), and finally kissing his knuckles before he cleared his throat.

"Hmmm...I came here on a rainy morning a few days ago; I've lost track now how many days it has been, to have a coffee with a friend. I ended up meeting you..."

Sherlock waited, then said in a whispered hush, "the day we met, I tried to smoke what would have been my last cigarette. The rain drowned it as soon as I lit it. I started walking and ended up here by chance, had no cases to work on, no experiments, nothing, bored out of my mind. I was just messing about when you walked in...I don't know what it means, John. I don't believe in coincidence, or fate or whatever, I have to believe we are just two very lucky blokes who met when we were both at the very end of our proverbial ropes. I'm starving, feel up to Angelo's?"

John nodded, kissed Sherlock soundly and helped him to his feet. They slowly made their way to the restaurant, where Angelo brought them a candle, even though it was only three in the afternoon and they shared one extra large plate of angel hair pasta, but skipped the tiramisu.


End file.
